“I’m moving your vacation somewhere more appropriate,” I said.
“Into some tacky tourist trap?”
“You’re welcome to find something else,” I said.
My father came down the hallway.
Storming. Pulling his windbreaker over his shoulders. His face red from sleep and anger.
“What is all this commotion?”
Melissa pointed at me.
Her finger shaking.
“She’s throwing us out!”
My father stopped.
He saw the deputy standing in my front doorway.
He saw Rhonda and Kayla. In their navy blazers. Rolling Melissa’s four enormous suitcases toward the front door.
He saw the shuttle in the driveway. Its engine running. Its headlights on.
Ezoic
His expression hardened.
Ezoic
“We are not leaving,” he said.
I held his gaze.
“You are,” I said.
“I am your father!”
“And I’m the owner,” I said.
He stepped closer.
Close enough that I could smell the wine on his breath from last night. Close enough that I had to tilt my head up to look at him.
